


Man's (and Demon's and Angel's) Best Friend

by AnonymousDandelion



Series: Hallie and the Ineffables: Being the Adventures of an Angel, a Demon, and a Dog [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Animals, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Dog - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Footnotes, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Other, adopt don't shop, humane society
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25153165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousDandelion/pseuds/AnonymousDandelion
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale are both convinced they are terrible with dogs. But when a stray desperately in need of a belly rub shows up outside the bookshop, and Crowley answers a panicked call from his favorite angel, what are they supposed to do?It takes several thousand words, a humane society receptionist, and a wild ride in the Bentley for them to figure out the answer. But it's really quite obvious.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley & Original Dog Character, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Hallie and the Ineffables: Being the Adventures of an Angel, a Demon, and a Dog [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061846
Comments: 14
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had Good Omens on my mind while walking a dog. Then I got home, and this happened.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The creature before Crowley's eyes resembled a hellhound in that it had red eyes (though, in this case, they were really much more pink), vaguely canine anatomy, and fur that was… mostly… black (except for the pink nose and the white patches on its head, tail, belly, and three of its four paws). It also appeared plenty unhappy enough to be in its own personal Hell. Aside from these features, however, it was quite probably the least hellhound-like four-legged creature Crowley had ever seen, with the possible exception of one small Dog belonging to an Adam Young.
> 
> With Adam’s precedent in mind, Crowley reminded himself that appearances could be deceiving. Still, if not for Aziraphale’s panic, he would really have thought the creature he was looking at was nothing more than a thin, frightened, cold, bedraggled, and utterly normal medium-sized mutt.

The dog slunk along the alley, not knowing where it was going or why it was even bothering. Its eyes itched, its stomach hurt, but most of all its entire being was simply weary of life. Its person had never exactly treated it kindly, but at least it had _had_ a person. Then, it was thrown into a loud and stinking monster, the monster rattled around for a long while, and then the dog was thrown _out_ of the monster, in a strange place it had never been before.

That had been nine days ago, and since then, the dog had had no person at all.

Had it been of any species other than a dog, it might have given up all hope by now. Being a dog, it slunk on, tail low and heart still lower, tired and sad and scared and alone but still hoping — though for what it was hoping, it didn’t know.

Unbeknownst to the dog, it was being watched.

A short while later, it smelled cake.

~ ~ ~

Crowley was deep in the midst of a nap, dreaming extraordinarily pleasant dreams,[1] when his telephone rang. It was the ringtone belonging to his private phone line, not the one connected to the ansaphone. When Crowley’s private phone line rang, there was usually one possibility as to the identity of the caller. Unless the robocallers had finally gotten his number.[2]

In case it was the former and hoping as much as he could manage that it wasn’t the latter,[3] Crowley dragged himself out of bed and stumbled to the phone. He picked it up on the fourth ring, and blearily gave his usual phone greeting. “What.”

“Crowley! Thank something! I need you, dear!”

It was not a robocall. And, even to Crowley’s more-than-half-asleep ear,[4] Aziraphale sounded panicked. Crowley felt his own heartbeat speeding up in sympathy; one of the annoying side effects of being corporated.[5] Something was clearly seriously wrong. He tried to work out what Aziraphale was talking about, but the angel was talking so rapidly, and stammering so much, it was hard to keep up. Crowley made out the words, “need help… at the bookshop… the Hell… hound…”

Oh, _shoot._ Crowley’s stomach dropped about six miles. He’d really thought they would be safe — of course, not forever, he was smarter than that, but at least for a little while. But if there was a hellhound at Aziraphale’s place, he’d clearly been flat-out wrong.

And Aziraphale needed help. Crowley cursed[6] his slow, sleep-heavy brain.

“Don’t hang up. On my way.” The bleariness evaporated as Crowley traveled down the phone line.

~ ~ ~

Aziraphale was still gripping the telephone receiver when Crowley shot out the other end and barely managed to prevent himself from taking form in the same space that was presently occupied by Aziraphale’s body.[7] Once he’d instead materialized in a space a few inches to Aziraphale’s left, the look of anxiety on the angel’s face told Crowley that the situation was as bad as he feared, if not worse.

He didn’t waste words. “Where is it?”

Aziraphale pointed towards the side of the bookshop, where Crowley saw nothing but a shelf of books. He raised an eyebrow.

“Outside,” Aziraphale clarified.

“Oh.” Crowley was faintly impressed that Aziraphale had successfully managed to keep a hellhound (presumably a hellhound that was not alone) out of his bookshop, at least in the short term.[8] He sighed. “Well, angel, what do you recommend we do?”

“I hoped you’d have an idea. Why do you think I called you?” Aziraphale said, eyes wide.

Crowley groaned. He looked around the bookshop, as if he didn’t already know its layout at least as well as the back of his hand.[9] There was only one escape route that didn’t require going outside, and Crowley had still never convinced Aziraphale to try traveling by phone line.

Fresh out of ideas, feeling decidedly unwell, realizing he was still in his pajamas[10] and didn’t even have his sunglasses, and almost — but not actually — wishing he’d never woken up to answer the phone,[11] the demon groaned again, the sound remarkably near to a hiss. “Not the least idea, sorry. But I guess we may as well go face the music.[12] No point in waiting, is there?”

Aziraphale nodded, looking relieved, and led the way to the door. Crowley followed closely at his side, braced for whatever action might prove necessary. He didn’t particularly fancy his and Aziraphale’s odds against a hellhound (especially one that almost certainly had backup of its own), but Crowley had never been one to give in to the odds.

They exited the bookshop, bell tinkling behind them and CLOSED sign flipping itself to face outwards as the door swung shut. It was raining, of _course_ it had to be raining, but a stern stare from the angel instructed the raindrops to avoid touching the two humanoid fingers standing beside the bookshop. Aziraphale led the way around the corner, continuing into the narrow alley that separated A. Z. Fell & Co. Purveyor of Fine Books to the Gentry from Intimate Books next door. Crowley kept pace, still tense, but increasingly puzzled by the fact that his considerably-sharp senses picked up no Hellish presence whatsoever.[13] He glanced at Aziraphale. “Where—?”

“There,” Aziraphale said as he stopped, a few yards into the alley, and pointed.

Crowley stared.

The creature before his eyes resembled a hellhound in that it had red eyes (though, in this case, they were really much more pink), vaguely canine anatomy, and fur that was… mostly… black (except for the pink nose and the white patches on its head, tail, belly, and three of its four paws). It also appeared plenty unhappy enough to be in its own personal Hell.[14] Aside from these features, however, it was quite probably the least hellhound-like four-legged creature Crowley had ever seen, with the possible exception of one small Dog belonging to an Adam Young.

With Adam’s precedent in mind, Crowley reminded himself that appearances could be deceiving. Still, if not for Aziraphale’s panic, he would really have thought the creature he was looking at was nothing more than a thin, frightened, cold, bedraggled, and utterly normal medium-sized mutt.

Aziraphale was looking at Crowley like he was waiting for Crowley to do something. Crowley frowned at the angel. “Um?”

Aziraphale pointed, again. “Aren’t you going to do something?”

Crowley looked between the four-legged creature and the angel. He looked again at the four-legged creature, focused every sense he had[15] on its being, and came to the conclusion that there was definitely nothing Hellish about it, except for its misery. He looked back at the angel, who looked back at him.

It occured to Crowley that there was a possibility that, in his half-asleep state, he had not accurately interpreted the meaning of Aziraphale’s phone call. He sighed and shifted position so he could more comfortably lounge against A. Z. Fell's siding.[16] He rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling the loss of his nap with great intensity and suspecting he had a headache coming on to boot. “Hang on. Back up. What in all the circles is going on here?”

**Footnotes**

1 Said dreams may or may not have involved a certain angel.[return to text]

2 Crowley was, if not solely responsible for the invention of robocalls, very much responsible for tactfully encouraging humanity along the way. The best inventions always backfire. At first, he’d been rather pleased with the soul-tarnishing results. He was rather less pleased when it quickly became clear that robocallers had no qualms about including demons among their souls-to-be-tarnished. Crowley had tried at least a dozen methods for miraculously erasing his other line from their dialing lists, but the effects seldom lasted more than a day or two, or at most a week; robocallers were persistent. By the grace of something, they had not yet discovered his private line, but Crowley knew all too well it was only a matter of time.[return to text]

3 If it was, he would… well, the problem was, there wasn’t really anything he could do. That was why robocalls were so much worse than more traditional telemarketing techniques. There was only the most minimal satisfaction to be had in yelling and hissing and being sarcastic at a robot.[return to text]

4 To be precise, Crowley’s ear — his left one, the one pressed against the phone — was .698 asleep. Most of the rest of his body was rather more asleep than that.[return to text]

5 Though sometimes, it was a distinctly pleasant sensation. It all depended on the reason for the heart-speeding.[return to text]

6 And then blessed, because it could be hard to determine which form of language was most offensive when used by a demon.[return to text]

7 That would have been a bit messy.[return to text]

8 Keeping Hell out never worked in the long term.[return to text]

9 Most likely better. Crowley rarely paid much attention to his hands. Aziraphale was much more interested in such things.[return to text]

10 No, I’m afraid I am _not_ going to tell you the pattern of Crowley’s pajamas. Don’t bother asking.[return to text]

11 He would have wished it, except that would have meant leaving Aziraphale alone to deal with whatever was out there. And no matter what the consequences, abandoning Aziraphale when the angel was in trouble was not a possibility Crowley was willing to ever, ever even entertain.[return to text]

12 He hoped it wasn’t Freddie Mercury. Knowing the tendencies of music, it almost certainly was.[return to text]

13 Aside from the usual traces of Hell always floating in the London air currents, but those didn’t count. Hounds from Hell typically emanated a certain distinct and trademarked brand of dark, fiery, stuff-of-your-worst-nightmares-that-you-didn’t-even-know-you-had horror. It was very different from the common British variety, although the question of which was worse was a matter of taste.[return to text]

14 Although if it thought it _was_ in Hell, it was wrong. It did not rain anything except fire in Hell.[return to text]

15 Even in human form, this was many more than the traditional five.[return to text]

16 The siding hurriedly rid itself of any dampness that might have marred the demon’s pajamas.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In chapter two (coming soon), we will discover what in all the circles is, in fact, going on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My dear Crowley, are you trying to tell me that you are afraid of dogs?”
> 
> “Who, me?” Crowley endeavored to replicate Aziraphale’s prior lack of embarrassment. ”A demon, afraid of dogs? That would be absurd. Ha. Ha. I mean, um, a demon could just, like, smite a dog if it wanted to. Don’t be silly, Aziraphale. Why would a demon be afraid of dogs?”
> 
> Aziraphale looked incredibly curious now. “Crowley, have you ever smitten a dog?”
> 
> “What? No! That would be horrible! Um. Gah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If, after reading this chapter, you are interested in learning more about Crowley's less-than-enjoyable history with dogs, feel free to check out the following two stories:
> 
>   * [Let Sleeping Dogs Lie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25976767), written by myself
>   * [Snakes And Dogs Don’t Mix](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25189810), written by the fabulous [fractalgeometry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalgeometry/pseuds/fractalgeometry)
> 


Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. He definitely had a headache, most likely better described as a migraine. He shook his head to clear it, and the physical symptoms went away. Alas, the mental symptoms remained.

“So. Let me make sure I have this straight,” Crowley said. His voice was as steady as he could make it, because he didn’t know whether to laugh, scream, hiss, cry, or all of the above.[17] “Three days ago you noticed this… hound outside your bookshop. It seemed hungry and sad, and you felt sorry for it, so you put out a cake for it. Probably even more unhealthy for dogs than for humans, by the way—”

“Excuse me!” Aziraphale broke in, offended. “I did my research.It was a vegan, healthy pound cake[18] recipe, and there was no chocolate or raisins or coffee or _anything_ toxic for canines in the—”

“Don’t interrupt.” Crowley gave the angel the full, withering benefit of an unshaded snake glare. “So, you _baked a special canine-friendly cake_ and put it out for the dog. Not knowing enough not to eat food offered by an angel, the dumb beast ate the cake and ran off, and you thought you were done with it. But, _duh_ , the dog came back the next day for more. And so, like a stupid softie, you decided it was a good idea to give it what it asked for and put out _more_ food, plus water. Then — who’d have guessed? — the dog came back again today, and it won’t leave. And now you realize your mistake and you don’t know what to do. Do I have the story right?”

If Aziraphale was embarrassed, he did a surprisingly good job of covering it up. [19] “I take exception to the term stupid softie,[20] but for the most part yes, dear, your understanding is correct.”

“Ooookay. So. Um. Gah. Why did you call me again? Why did you wake me up from a nap that I really, really needed?”[21]

Aziraphale had the grace to blush. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were napping. I guess that explains the, er…” He waved a hand, vaguely indicating Crowley’s attire, which the demon had not chosen to change.[22] “But. Er. Anyway. I called you so you can do something about the dog, of course. I mean, I can’t exactly leave it lying there next to my bookshop all day, can I?”

“Technically, you could,” Crowley pointed out.

“Crowley!” The angel looked horrified. “You don’t mean that!”

“Well, technically you could…” Crowley started, then relented on that point. “That doesn’t mean I think you should, of course. But I still don’t understand why you want _me_ to do something about the dog. You’re the one who put the cake out in the first place. You got yourself into this mess, you get yourself out of it. What do you expect me to do?”

“But, but, but,” Aziraphale stammered, then finally got out, “You know I’m no good with animals.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “And you think I'm better? You remember the horses, don't you? I mean, yes, I do know better than to feed a dog pound cake. But…”

 _Shoot._ The angel was doing those pleading, puppy-dog eyes[23] that Crowley never knew how to cope with. “ _Please_ , Crowley,” said Aziraphale. “I don’t know dogs. I know the situation is my fault, but I don’t know what to do to get out of it. I need your help.”

That was an unsettling display of vulnerability from Aziraphale, and Crowley wasn’t sure what to do with it. He sighed, and decided redirecting the conversation wasn’t going to work. There was nothing else for it but honesty. He showed helpless palms. “Angel, just because I turn into a snake doesn’t mean I’m good with other animals. Dogs… they’re just not my area of expertise. Got it?”

Aziraphale looked far more dumbstruck by that statement than he had any right to be. “But… you have hounds in Hell, don’t you?”

“How much time do you think I’ve spent in Hell in the past 6000 years?[24] ” Crowley demanded. “Anyway, I never ranked highly enough to do much more than bite one on the tail and slither away as fast as possible.”[25]

“Okay, sorry.” Aziraphale was apologetic again, but not enough to let go of his end of the argument.[26] “But they have dogs on Earth, too. Case in point…” Once again, he pointed.

Partial honesty wasn’t going to suffice this time. Crowley slapped his own forehead. “Look, angel, it’s just… dogs. Snakes. Me. We don’t get along. At all. They don’t have any instincts for staying out of trouble, if they meet a snake they run right over to look at it, for something’s sake, they try to _play_ with it…”

Crowley’s voice was beginning to shake with distress, and he did not appreciate the incredulous, extremely amused expression on Aziraphale’s face. He glowered.

Aziraphale made an effort to control his face, then apparently gave that up as a lost cause. “My dear Crowley, are you trying to tell me that you are afraid of dogs?”

“Who, me?” Crowley endeavored to replicate Aziraphale’s prior lack of embarrassment.[27] ”A demon, afraid of dogs? That would be absurd. Ha. Ha. I mean, um, a demon could just, like, smite a dog if it wanted to. Don’t be silly, Aziraphale. Why would a demon be afraid of dogs?”

Aziraphale looked incredibly curious now. “Crowley, have you ever smitten a dog?”

“What? No! That would be horrible! Um. Gah.”

The two stared at each other, then Crowley abruptly gave up and sat down on the ground, head in hands. His pajamas were almost immediately soaked through,[28] but he didn’t do anything about that. An instant later Aziraphale knelt as well, bringing them down to the same level, though the angel first made sure there was a tarp to protect his knees.

Crowley lifted his head, and his lips quirked a little, wry and self-deprecating. “Yeah, maybe I’m afraid of dogs. Just a little. I know, it doesn’t make sense. It’s just, because I know I _could_ hurt them — heck, even if I was just a snake, not a demon at all, I could still hurt them — and they don’t know or they don’t care or they don’t believe it or something, and… and…” He trailed off, lamely.

Tentatively, Aziraphale patted Crowley on the hand. Crowley didn’t object. After a bit, he patted Aziraphale in return. They sat in silence for a short time, the rain still politely taking a detour around their bodies.

Then Aziraphale moaned. “So I’m no good with dogs, you’re no good with dogs, and there’s a dog waiting next to my bookshop that wants cake. What are we going to do?”

“Oh. Shoot.” Crowley sat bolt upright. Both demon and angel turned to look at the shivering lump of black-and-white fur, still huddled near the wall, that they’d nearly forgotten about despite the fact that it had been the topic of their entire discussion.

Perhaps sensing the attention suddenly focused on it, the lump of fur also sat up. It looked at Crowley and Aziraphale, the look in its pinkish eyes and every nerve in its very wet body screaming a mixture of fear and longing. It looked around at the alley and at the rain. It thumped its tail, once, twice, warily and wearily. Then it whimpered, thin and pitiful and pleading. It was the first sound the dog had made in Aziraphale’s hearing (and also, of course, the first it had made in Crowley’s).

Crowley jumped up. Beside him, Aziraphale surged to his own feet. A very few seconds after that, one angel, one demon, and one bedraggled and extremely surprised dog were inside A. Z. Fell & Co. Purveyor of Fine Books to the Gentry, the sign on the door still turned to CLOSED. Crowley summoned some dog food, while Aziraphale set to work gently warming the dog and drying its fur, singing a dreadfully off-key, 800-year-old lullaby while he did so. Once the dog food dilemma was resolved,[29] Crowley joined in on the drying and warming,[30] though he drew the line at the lullaby. They couldn't help but notice that sudden movements made the dog cringe and tremble like a leaf, so both Crowley and Aziraphale made certain to keep their motions slow, gentle, and nonthreatening.

Both angel and demon maintained a safe distance, because neither one of them was good with dogs.

~ ~ ~

The dog was comfortable, content, and happier than it had ever been in a relatively short and overall unhappy lifetime. It was warm, it was dry, it was well-fed,[31] the infection that had colored its naturally-brown eyes pink was cleared up, and it was in the lap of someone who was singing it a lullaby while someone else awkwardly scritched its back. The scritching was nice, but it could have been even nicer. The dog rolled over in the lap, invitingly proffering its belly.

Crowley stared at the dog’s belly. The dog wriggled a little. Slowly, cautiously, Crowley touched the belly. The dog wriggled again, eagerly. Carefully, Crowley began to move his hand.

Blissful, the dog lay back in Aziraphale’s lap. It was in doggy heaven, except that Heaven didn’t have demons giving tummy rubs.

**Footnotes**

17 He would have done all of the above, but he didn’t want to hurt Aziraphale’s feelings. So, he opted for steadiness instead.[return to text]

18 Is “healthy pound cake” an oxymoron? Probably.[return to text]

19 Aziraphale was exceedingly embarrassed, and his success in covering it up was a very surprising fluke. It was unlikely to happen again in the next 6000 years.[return to text]

20 Actually, he thought being called a stupid softie by Crowley was rather endearing, but he couldn’t exactly say so.[return to text]

21 This was not strictly true. Being a demon, Crowley did not _need_ to sleep at all. What he meant — and what Aziraphale accurately interpreted — was that he really, really _wanted_ his nap.[return to text]

22 If one was going to face the forces of Hell, he’d reasoned, one might as well do so in all one’s pajamaed glory. There was always an advantage to catching the enemy off guard, and Crowley in pajamas would definitely catch any self-respecting hellhound off its guard.[return to text]

23 No pun intended. Anyway, the actual puppy dog in the scene was, at the moment, way too miserable to do proper puppy-dog eyes.[return to text]

24 No more than he absolutely had to, and sometimes a bit less. Crowley had a knack for slithering out of things he absolutely had to do.[return to text]

25 He hadn’t done this very many times. It was beyond daft to anger a Hound of Hell, especially through mockery. Crowley could undoubtedly be exceedingly daft, but he wasn’t _usually_ that far beyond daft.[return to text]

26 Or whatever it was. “Argument” was neither the nicest nor the most accurate descriptor of what Crowley and Aziraphale were having, but there wasn’t really a better word for it.[return to text]

27 Alas, the flukes of fate did not favor Crowley. They usually didn’t.[return to text]

28 Crowley sat down so abruptly, the ground didn’t have time to dry itself off. Anyway, since it wasn’t asked to do so, it didn’t try. A dry patch of ground in the middle of a rainstorm would have thrown off the ecosystem.[return to text]

29 When Crowley admitted that he didn’t actually know what was the best kind of dog food — though he was adamant that any kind was better than cake — Aziraphale insisted that Crowley provide at least half a dozen options, so the dog could have its pick.[return to text]

30 He was careful and even more gentle than Aziraphale, don’t worry! What, did you think he was going to dry off a dog with hellfire? Crowley wasn’t an idiot! …Well, okay, he was totally an idiot, sometimes. Just not that much of an idiot. Or at least not that _kind _of an idiot.[return to text] __

__ 31 To Aziraphale’s alarm and Crowley’s amusement, the dog had eaten all of all half-dozen varieties of dog food provided. It would happily have eaten more, and Aziraphale suggested that perhaps Crowley should get it some more, but Crowley thought that was not a good idea. Crowley was right.[return to text]_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once Crowley has given a dog a tummy rub while Aziraphale sings it a lullaby, you'd think that would be that. It's glaringly obvious what's going to happen, right?
> 
> Well, it's obvious to us, but it's not obvious to them. Chapter three will be coming soon, featuring sad dog, sad demon, sad angel, and sad random humane society receptionist.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley knew about euthanasia, of course — he was 6000 years old, for something’s sake! — but he’d never really thought about it before. He’d never had much reason to think about it before. Judging from the sudden tensing of Aziraphale’s shoulders, the angel knew what euthanasia was too.
> 
> The receptionist forced a smile, because that was her job. “We hope it won’t come to that. So many dogs get adopted every day! She has a week, that’s plenty of time.”
> 
> "A week?” Aziraphale whispered hoarsely.

Eventually, the dog fell asleep. Crowley discreetly moved his hand; the dog twitched slightly, but didn’t wake. Aziraphale’s position was not so easily modified. It took some very delicate maneuvering to extract the angel from beneath the dog without disturbing the dog’s slumber,[32] but eventually they managed it. Aziraphale stood up, stretching and massaging a cramped leg, and went to make some tea. Crowley followed him into the back of the bookshop.

“Well, angel?” he asked.

Aziraphale sighed. “Well, what? I suppose that was somewhat pleasant, but I still don’t know what to do with him. I—”

Crowley coughed. “Did you just say _him_?”

Aziraphale looked confused. “Er, yes? The dog? Remember, you were just giving him—”

“The dog,” stated Crowley, “is a she.”

There was silence. Aziraphale blushed. “Oh. Er. Well. If you say so. I do forget to pay attention to these things sometimes. And you really had a much better view of its, er, underside.”

Crowley raised one eyebrow, then the other. Aziraphale blushed further.

Finally, Crowley had mercy on the angel.[33] “You were saying something?”

"Oh. Right.” Aziraphale fumbled for the tea, poured himself some, offered Crowley a cup (Crowley declined), and continued, “I don’t know what to do with… her. What _do_ you do with stray dogs? After you feed them and sing them lullabies, I mean.”

“ _I_ ,” Crowley commented witheringly, “do not sing them lullabies. But…” He paused. “That’s a good question.”

His cell phone finding itself conveniently in his hand,[34] Crowley opened a web browser and typed _what do you do with stray dogs_. He scrolled through a few search results, then looked up. “It says we’re supposed to call the authorities… the human society. Do you know what that is?”[35]

“Nope. Let me see.” Aziraphale leaned over and squinted. “I think,” he said, “it says hu _mane_ society. I’ve read about them. They’re a charity for lifesaving. Or something.”

“Ah. That makes sense. I guess.” Crowley scrolled more. “No, wait, it’s something to do with adopting animals. That actually _does_ make sense.” He handed the phone over to Aziraphale. “Here, I found their number. You call.”

"Why me?” Aziraphale was dismayed.

“Because,” Crowley answered, with the satisfaction of someone driving home a winning point which can brook no argument, “I am a demon, and demons don’t mix with _humane_ things. And contacting legitimate authorities is an angel’s responsibility, not a demon’s. Besides, I am wearing pajamas that are damp and covered in dog hair. I need to change.”

“But, you—” Aziraphale began to protest at the outrageous unfairness of Crowley’s argument, then threw his hands up in (mock[36]) despair instead. He knew when he’d lost an argument, and occasionally he even knew better than to keep arguing his case anyway.[37] “Very well, dear. I’ll call. You go and… change.”

“See ya later.” Crowley headed for Aziraphale’s telephone, while the angel used Crowley’s cell. Crowley picked up the receiver and started to dial his home phone number. Just before hopping aboard, he called over his shoulder, “It also says you’re not supposed to approach strange dogs. I imagine that includes taking them indoors and holding them on your lap and rubbing their bellies. Guess we broke the rules.”

~ ~ ~

The dog pressed herself against the leather car seat, shivering. She did _not_ like the Bentley. The interior was hard, slippery, uncomfortable, closed-in, and the only nice thing about the smell was that it included strong hints of both the individuals currently sharing its space with her. Those scents were not enough to make the dog like the Bentley, however. If not for the angel stroking her head, she would have been having a full-blown panic attack. Since there _was_ an angel stroking her head, she was simply unhappy.

At the wheel, sunglasses and all, Crowley tried to strike a balance between driving slowly enough that the dog wouldn't be more scared than she already was,[38] and driving fast enough that the trip would be over as soon as possible.

They pulled up on Clarke Road, outside the Humane Society of London & Middlesex. Aziraphale helped the dog out of the back seat; the dog emerged with patent relief, and surveyed her new surroundings with curiosity, sticking close to the angel’s side all the same. Crowley came around from the front of the Bentley and stood on the other side of the dog. Demon and angel exchanged glances.

Overwhelmed with delight at the combination of being out of the monster and in close proximity to her two favorite people, the dog seized the moment. Crowley froze as he felt a decidedly wet dog tongue meet the palm of his hand. He swallowed, took a few deep breaths, and carefully moved his hand out of reach.

The dog looked disappointed. Crowley put his hand back, and the dog expressed its pleasure at that fact. Then, not wanting Aziraphale to feel left out, she turned her tongue’s attention to the angel’s perfectly manicured hand.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and looked to Crowley for help. “What are we waiting for?”

Crowley grunted. “Not sure. Nothing?”

“Er. Let’s go, then.”

They made for the building, the dog staying tucked safely between them.

~ ~ ~

The humane society receptionist sighed and flipped to the next page of the intake form. “Thank you for bringing her in. She’s the third stray we’ve gotten just today. Such a pity. And most of them never get claimed… It’s just so hard to understand how anyone could abuse or abandon such a sweet animal.”

Aziraphale appeared so stricken by the thought of anyone abusing or abandoning such a sweet animal that Crowley had to step in. “Yeah. Um. Real shame, isn’t it?”

“It really is,” the receptionist agreed. To lighten the mood, she asked, “Do you two have any pets?”

When Crowley answered in the negative, she seemed quite surprised. “Oh! Well, you’re good with dogs.”

Demon and angel recoiled in unison and assured her that they were definitely very, very bad with dogs.

The receptionist looked from the couple to the black-and-white dog standing between them, then back at the couple. It had not escaped her notice that the dog was wearing neither collar nor lead, but had willingly[39] accompanied the men through the parking lot and into the building. The plumper of the two men so adamantly claiming to be terrible with dogs was resting his hand on the dog’s head. The other, the one wearing sunglasses, was absentmindedly scratching it around the tail, which was wagging emphatically.

The receptionist decided not to comment. She changed the subject. “I wonder how long she was out on the street. She’s thin, and of course she hasn’t seen the vet yet, but she looks in remarkably good health for a stray.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a sidelong look. Crowley stared straight ahead.[40]

They finished with the paperwork, and Mr. Fell signed the bottom of the intake form and passed it back across the desk. The receptionist scanned the form, typed something, then paused and glanced up at her computer. “Would you like us to take your phone number? That’s optional, of course. If you do, we can call you and let you know if the dog gets adopted.”

Some note in her voice made Aziraphale say, “ _If_? You mean, when?”

“Well…” The receptionist looked unhappy. You could tell she had a heart, and that made her job that much harder to do.[41] “Hopefully, when. But, well. Black, indeterminate mixed breed, part pitt, young but not a puppy… she’s not the most adoptable combination.”

Aziraphale did _not_ know, nor did Crowley, but the demon was quicker on the uptake. “Euthanasia, you mean.”

He said it flatly. He knew about euthanasia, of course — he was 6000 years old, for something’s sake! — but he’d never really thought about it before. He’d never had much reason to think about it before. Judging from the sudden tensing of Aziraphale’s shoulders, the angel knew what euthanasia was too.

The receptionist forced a smile, because that was her job. “We hope it won’t come to that. So many dogs get adopted every day! She has a week, that’s plenty of time.”

“A _week_?” Aziraphale whispered hoarsely, though not loudly enough for the receptionist to hear. The dog glanced upwards, sensing distress in her favorite people and wanting to do something to help. She tried kissing hands again, but that clearly wasn’t enough to make them feel better. She bunched her muscles, and all of a sudden there was a dog tongue on Aziraphale’s face.

The angel made a smothered sound. Crowley stirred himself to action and firmly, though very gently, lowered the dog to the ground. Aziraphale wiped at his face, though he seemed[42] more bemused than disgusted.

The receptionist had to smile, but the smile was sad. Her job could be painful, and never more so than when the perfect solution to a painful situation was so unmistakably at hand, yet people couldn’t see it. Her job was not supposed to entail influencing potential adopters, but she couldn’t resist tilting her head and asking, “Are you _sure_ you’re not good with dogs?”

Neither individual answered; both were otherwise occupied at the moment. When the dog was calmed down enough, they gave the receptionist a phone number — Crowley’s ansaphone line — and the receptionist called for a shelter worker, who came bearing a collar and lead. The angel and demon relinquished their contact with the dog with obvious reluctance. They turned to go.

The dog stared after her two favorite people as they left her alone, abandoning her in a strange place filled with strange scents, strange humans, and strange dogs. She fought to escape from the thing attached to her neck. She whined in the back of her throat, and then the whine became a howl, long and loud and desperate. From the canine kennel hallway, other dogs began to bark, yap, and yowl in sympathy.

The receptionist shook her head, blinked rapidly, and turned to the next customer in line.

Backs stiff, Crowley and Aziraphale walked out of the humane society and went to the Bentley. They drove without saying a word, not even when Crowley turned on an album that played Bohemian Rhapsody, by Mozart.[43]

**Footnotes**

32 This was one of the rare situations where miracling was of no use at all.[return to text]

33 Demons are never, ever supposed to have mercy on anyone. Crowley was not particularly good at being a demon.[return to text]

34 Yes, Crowley was still in his pajamas, in case you’re wondering. The pajamas had pockets, in case you’re wondering _that_ — they were good pajamas. Anyway, miracles can be quite useful in a pinch.[return to text]

35 He was imagining… actually, he wasn’t sure what he was imagining. Whatever it was, though, it was definitely wrong.[return to text]

36 But a tiny bit real, too.[return to text]

37 Occasionally. Which is to say, on most occasions he did not know when to stop.[return to text]

38 Crowley had never before modified his driving style to suit anyone’s comfort. This was a special case, however.[return to text]

39 And even relatively enthusiastically. The dog had never been to a humane society before, and it didn’t know any better.[return to text]

40 What was he supposed to do, bring a sick dog to an animal shelter? Aziraphale would have done something about the infections if Crowley hadn’t gotten there first. He’d saved the angel some trouble, that was all. They’d been doing that kind of thing for millenia, it was just part of the Arrangement. And besides, a sick dog wouldn’t have enjoyed a tummy rub half so much. (Though she would still have very much enjoyed it.)[return to text]

41 With the exception of staying alive, most things are easier if you don’t have a heart. Crowley and Aziraphale knew from experience. They didn’t even need their hearts to stay alive, and having hearts had made their jobs much, much harder. On the other hand, hearts also had certain advantages. It all depended.[return to text]

42 And was.[return to text]

43 Opus 40.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fourth and final chapter is on its way, and should be posted within a couple days.
> 
> Spoiler: There's a happy ending, don't worry. I could never write a story about a dog and Crowley and Aziraphale without a happy ending.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley always drove like a maniac — it was habit, hobby, and tradition — but today he outdid himself. The Bentley shrieked, thundered, careered down the lane at a hundred miles an hour, paid no mind to traffic lights, stop signs, or the rules of physics, and took corners on one wheel rather than the usual two. Squirrels, pedestrians, and other cars scattered before it. Aziraphale closed his eyes and hung on.
> 
> Crowley didn’t know where he was going. As far as he was concerned, he was going nowhere in particular, he was just driving as quickly as possible in the hopes of getting away from unwanted thoughts and feelings. It was not working.
> 
> Aziraphale recognized the route they were taking a few blocks before Crowley did, but made no comment.
> 
> The Bentley skidded to a halt on Clarke Road, and Crowley stared out the window at the Humane Society of London & Middlesex. “Uhhhh,” Crowley said. He looked to Aziraphale for assistance.
> 
> The angel glanced from the demon to the humane society building. “Uh,” he agreed.

Six days passed. If Crowley checked his ansaphone messages a bit more frequently than was his norm, and Aziraphale casually asked, “Got any interesting news?” a bit more frequently than was _his_ norm, what of it?

During those six days, the ansaphone received countless robocalls; four calls from real people trying to sell Crowley the double glaze he already had; two political campaign calls; and one wrong-number call from a four-year-old girl who thought she was calling her grandma.[44] The ansaphone received zero calls from the Humane Society of London & Middlesex.

On the sixth day, they were sitting together in more-or-less-comfortable silence[45] on a bench in a park. Nearby, children played on a seesaw. A university student typed a research paper on their laptop. A woman played fetch with a golden retriever.

Aziraphale moaned. Crowley groaned.

“You think they just forgot to call?” Aziraphale asked, hopefully. “Or got the number wrong?”

Crowley gave this possibility due consideration, as if he hadn’t been giving it due consideration every day for six days straight, then shook his head. “Nah. The receptionist seemed pretty competent.”[46]

Aziraphale slumped. “That’s what I thought.”

There was a pause.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale. “She did say a week, didn’t she?”

“She did.”

The silence stretched on, growing less and less comfortable by the minute. The children on the seesaw wondered why the park suddenly felt so gloomy, and decided to go play hopscotch instead. The university student discovered they couldn’t focus on their research, and decided to go home. The woman and the golden retriever continued their game of fetch, oblivious.

Crowley broke first. He punched his leg, shook his head to clear it of the physical symptoms of a migraine for the second time that week, stood up from the bench, and strode towards the place where he’d parked the Bentley. Aziraphale followed suit,[47] shooting a quizzical glance at the demon. “Where are we going?”

Crowley shrugged. “Dunno. Away. You don’t have to come.”

Aziraphale got in the passenger side of the Bentley. The back seat, usually so pristine and impeccably maintained, was still covered in dog hair.[48]

Crowley always drove like a maniac[49] — it was habit, hobby, and tradition — but today he outdid himself. The Bentley shrieked, thundered, careered down the lane at a _hundred_ miles an hour, paid no mind to traffic lights, stop signs, or the rules of physics, and took corners on one wheel rather than the usual two. Squirrels, pedestrians, and other cars scattered before it. Aziraphale closed his eyes and hung on.

Crowley didn’t know where he was going. As far as he was concerned, he was going nowhere in particular, he was just driving as quickly as possible in the hopes of getting away from unwanted thoughts and feelings. It was not working.[50]

Aziraphale recognized the route they were taking a few blocks before Crowley did, but made no comment.

The Bentley skidded to a halt on Clarke Road, and Crowley stared out the window at the Humane Society of London & Middlesex. “Uhhhh,” Crowley said. He looked to Aziraphale for assistance.

The angel glanced from the demon to the humane society. “Uh,” he agreed.

Silence.

Aziraphale said, “She can stay in the bookshop. You have to handle the food, though. Otherwise I’ll bake her cake.”

Crowley nodded. “Deal. But no more than three kinds of kibble at a time. We shouldn’t spoil her.”

“Deal.”

~ ~ ~

The receptionist inspected the couple who had just entered the humane society. They looked quite familiar, but then she saw so many people in her line of work, she couldn’t have said whether she’d met them at the humane society or the grocery store last month. “How can I help you?”

The customers exchanged glances, seemingly unsure how she could help them, or else wondering which of them was supposed to explain it to her. The receptionist was used to this sort of thing. She waited patiently, still trying to work out why she recognized the pair.

Finally, the plumper one said, “We would like to adopt a dog.”

The receptionist beamed, brightly and patiently. “Well then, you’ve come to the right place! Any particular kind of dog in mind, or would you just like to take a look at the ones we have available right now?”

Another exchange of glances. The one with the sunglasses said, “Ngh. Well. Yes, we have a particular kind of dog in mind.”

“Great!” The receptionist waited, and hoped they were not about to ask for a pedigree Pomeranian.[51] They didn’t look like the sort, but you could never tell for sure.

Aziraphale leaned over and whispered to Crowley, “What if… what if she’s not here? What if someone adopted her already?”

“Shut up,” Crowley hissed back, determined not to contemplate the possibility that his ansaphone had received a call while they were at the park.

The receptionist waited patiently for the customers to elaborate on the dog they had in mind. She could almost place them, almost…

“Black,” said the one wearing sunglasses. “Mostly. Partly. Pink nose, three white paws, white on the tail and the head and the tum— the belly. About this big.” He moved a hand vaguely, indicating a height that could have been anywhere from a beagle to a Great Dane. “Indeterminate mixed breed, part pitt, young but not a puppy. _Female_.”

He said the last word with a meaningful glance directed at his companion. The receptionist was busy pulling up records on her computer screen. That description was really oddly specific,[52] but it rang a very resonant bell. She was pretty certain…

A piercing howl split the air, coming from the canine kennel hallway. A young humane society volunteer rocketed into the lobby, hanging on to the end of the lead for dear life, until he lost hold altogether.[53] “Sorry!” he gasped. “Just bringing her in from a walk… don’t know what happened…”

His voice trailed away and he stared at the reunion scene taking place in front of the reception desk. The rest of the staff, volunteers, and customers in the lobby stared at the reunion scene as well, and even the grumpiest of them[54] couldn’t help smiling. It was really quite touching.

The receptionist smiled too. Of course she recognized the couple. She was glad they’d figured out that they were good with dogs.

~ ~ ~

The ride back took approximately three[55] times as long as the drive there.[56] It was also much more sociable, and much happier, than the last time they’d driven the route away from the humane society.

After a while, a thought crossed Crowley’s mind. He looked over his shoulder[57] at the angel. “What should we call her?” he inquired. “She’ll be wanting a name, probably. Dogs do.”

Judging from the look of dismay on Aziraphale’s face, this was clearly not an issue which had occurred to the angel any more than it had occurred to Crowley before that moment.

Aziraphale thought. “Er. Dog?”

Crowley shook his head. “Already taken.”

They thought.

Crowley suggested, “Bitch?”

Aziraphale snorted, then sternly tried to hide any trace of amusement. “That’s _mean_ , Crowley.”

“I’m mean. But it’s technically accurate.”

“It is, but it isn’t.”

“Yeah,” Crowley admitted, “you’re right.”

They thought some more.

“Caleb? Or the feminine equivalent, whatever that is?”

Crowley frowned. “I’m not sure there _is_ a feminine equivalent. But…”

Aziraphale sighed. “No, I’m afraid you’re right. Caleb was a fine spy, but I just can’t see him asking for a tummy rub.”

“Exactly.”

More thought.

Crowley let go of the steering wheel to snap his fingers.[58] “Got it! Beast! We can call her Dumb Beast for short!”

Aziraphale gave him a _look_.

Crowley sighed. “Okay, okay.”

They drove on, Aziraphale absently tickling the still-unnamed dog under the chin.

~ ~ ~

Following the dog’s excellent example, Crowley was stretched out on the bookshop carpet.[59] Aziraphale, ever more fastidious, reclined on a stool built in a style that had been popular during the Roman era.

They lay there, comfortable, content, happy. The dog dozed off. Crowley almost did the same, then he sat up suddenly. “Angel?”

“Yes?”

“You know, when you called me — when was it, last week or whenever — I thought Hell had come to get us. I thought it was over again.”

“I _am_ sorry about that, dear. I should have been clearer. I was anxious.”

“I know.” Crowley rolled over, chin resting on hands. “If I hadn’t been napping, I might not have leapt to that conclusion. But that’s not my point. Just… I like this. Better than Hell, anyway.”

Aziraphale reflected. “I like it better than Heaven, too.”[60]

“She still doesn’t have a name.”

“Are you sure she needs a name?”

“Most dogs do, I think. Even hellhounds get names.”[61]

The dog stirred.

“Does it need to be a _good_ name?” asked Aziraphale.

“No, an evil name would do just fine.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know that! You—” Aziraphale broke off.

Yes, of course Crowley knew that, and he was laughing.[62] Aziraphale tried to scowl, and continued, “I mean, does it have to be… _creative_? Because I’m not feeling very creative.”

Crowley considered this. “Dunno. Adam’s hellhound was called Dog. Maybe we could call our dog Hellhound. Seems fitting, no?”

The suggestion was mostly a joke,[63] but to Crowley’s surprise, Aziraphale looked thoughtful. “You know… that’s actually not bad. Not as bad as Bitch or Caleb or Beast, anyway. I don’t know how well it suits her, but we could call her something else for short. Maybe” — his brow creased, indicative of deep thought — “Hell? Hound? Helly?”

“Hallie,” said Crowley.

The dog woke up.

“Hallie?” said Aziraphale.

The dog thumped her tail, much more energetically than on that day in the alley.

“Hallie,” said Aziraphale.

Hallie, also known as Hellhound, rolled over and asked her people for a tummy rub.[64]

**Footnotes**

44 The grandma was also a sculptor, a psychotherapist, and a science fiction aficionado. Crowley knew this because her phone number was apparently very similar to his own, judging from the number of messages he’d received intended for her. People left her _very _intriguing messages on occasion; the granddaughter’s was nothing in comparison.__[return to text]

45 In this case, it was less. Most of the time, Aziraphale and Crowley were good at being comfortably quiet together. When there was something unpleasant weighing on their minds, not so much.[return to text]

46 She was. A few years later she was promoted to a managerial position, where she competently redesigned an overly complicated, pointlessly bureaucratic system at the humane society. The new intake process was much more efficient and much less redundant, and the paperwork collected much more useful information and much less useless information.[return to text]

47 Without the leg-punching, but including the migraine-clearing.[return to text]

48 The Bentley was rather confused by this oversight on the part of its driver, but it didn’t say anything.[return to text]

49 Unless there was a dog in the back seat.[return to text]

50 A hundred miles per hour was not nearly fast enough for that.[return to text]

51 The number of people that came to the humane society in search of a pedigree Pomeranian was surprisingly large. The number of pedigree Pomeranians that came to the humane society in search of a person was much, much smaller.[return to text]

52 Except for the size.[return to text]

53 Even the smallest of dogs can be amazingly strong when given sufficient inspiration.[return to text]

54 A teenager whose new laptop had died just that morning, one day after the warranty expired. He was feeling pretty grumpy. [return to text]

55 3.33343, to be exact.[return to text]

56 The Bentley was quite baffled by how slowly it was being asked to cruise, but it did as it was asked.[return to text]

57 PSA: Never do this while driving.[return to text]

58 PSA: Don’t do this while driving either.[return to text]

59 Sign, once again, turned to CLOSED.[return to text]

60 Not that that was saying much. All things taken into account, Heaven was not Aziraphale’s favorite place to be.[return to text]

61 Names like Killer, or Terror, or Stalks-by-Night, or Dog.[return to text]

62 Crowley laughing was one of Aziraphale’s favorite things to see, but it could also be incredibly aggravating at times.[return to text]

63 Because Crowley was sure Aziraphale would shoot down the idea as quickly as he’d shot down Dumb Beast.[return to text]

64 She got it.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some ideas for followup scenes detailing the continued adventures of Crowley, Aziraphale, and Hallie (they haven't even gotten to housetraining!), so depending how inspiration flows, future continuations are definitely a possibility. In the meantime, however, the story is complete, and I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Should you have any thoughts to share, I would absolutely love to read comments.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Snakes And Dogs Don’t Mix](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25189810) by [fractalgeometry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalgeometry/pseuds/fractalgeometry)
  * [Let Sleeping Dogs Lie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25976767) by [AnonymousDandelion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousDandelion/pseuds/AnonymousDandelion)




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